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Chapter Eleven
Carter has lost his mind. He can’t get himself to care about anything but sir. There’s no reason for thought or processing, unless it’s processing an order from sir. The only words he needs are the ones sir pours into his mouth. The only thing he needs to care about is making sir happy.
It’s almost… nice.
Carter’s muscles ache, his ass and the back of his thighs burning, but it’s okay because it reminds him of sir. Every shift of his weight is like sir touching him again, sir hurting him again, even if sir isn’t. Even if sir hasn’t touched him since the scary dungeon. Even if sir wants nothing to do with Carter anymore.
After Carter’s punishment, sir had led Carter to his office, pushed him down to his knees in the corner instead of under his desk like usual, and told Carter to stay. Sir hasn’t looked at him since. He hasn’t talked to him. He hasn’t touched him. He just ignores Carter all day as Carter sits in the corner like a bad puppy, still covered in bodily fluids. He’s starving. The plug in his ass is heavy and uncomfortable. His knees are aching. His face is itchy from the dried cum, sweat, and tears. He’s exhausted. He’s sad.
So very fucking sad.
But none of that matters because none of that has to do with pleasing sir. Sir wants him to stay, so Carter stays. Even when sir leaves the room. Even when sir eats lunch at his desk, ignoring Carter’s grumbling stomach. Even when sir has people come in for meetings. Even when sir’s men run their hands all over him, touching his cock and balls, pressing firmly against his injuries. Even when sir and his friends make fun of him for pissing himself, commenting on him being a filthy animal. Through it all, Carter stays quiet and still, staring at the floor because that’s what sir wants.
It’s freeing. Carter doesn’t have to care about hunger or pain or thirst, he doesn’t have to care about emotion, if he’s focused solely on pleasing sir.
Nothing else matters butsir.
Sir hangs up the phone with a louder than usual bang, making Carter jump. He quickly settles back in place and hangs his head, hoping he won’t get yelled at. Sir just continues to ignore him. It hurts, but Carter swallows it down because the pain doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Nothing but sir.
When sir leaves the room once again, he’s gone for a long time. A long enough time for Carter to start feeling afraid.
Would sir forget about him?
Is sir mad enough to just leave him here?
Is he supposed to stay in place?
Would sir rather him pass out, or leave to go find water and food?
Is this where Carter is sleeping tonight? Should he lay down? Curl up like a puppy? Or should he try to sleep sitting up? Is he allowed to sleep at all? Does sir want him to stay awake?
The office door opens and closes again, sending a twist of anxiety through Carter’s chest. He peeks up through his lashes to find sir walking towards him. Wanting to please sir, Carter makes sure to keep every muscle still, his back straight, his chin down, his eyes on the floor.
Sir stops when the toes of his expensive leather shoes are in Carter’s line of sight. Carter focuses on keeping his breathing steady and slow, not wanting to upset sir by reacting without permission.
After releasing a slow breath that sounds more tired than angry, sir says, “Time for bed. Up.”
Sir takes the end of Carter’s leash and tugs. Anxious and eager to please, Carter scrambles up to his feet. He immediately drops back to his hands and knees when he remembers he isn’t supposed to walk. He had been told to get up, but maybe that’s not what sir meant.
“Your knees must be killing you,” sir says softly. “You may walk.”
Swallowing hard, Carter once again rises to his feet. It hurts to stand, his muscles trembling under the weight of his body, his knees locking, the skin of his ass and thighs on fire as the air kisses them. Sir begins to walk, going slow as Carter desperately tries to force his body to move properly. He only stumbles once, and he’s the luckiest slave in the world because sir doesn’t yell at him for it.
They walk past the dining area and kitchen, the scent of dinner still thick in the air despite no food being in sight. Carter’s stomach grumbles, but he ignores it, and so does sir. They walk past men who reach out and slap Carter’s bruised ass as he walks by. Carter bites down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood in order to keep quiet.
By the time they get to sir’s bedroom, Carter is bone-tired and a little light-headed. He’s trying to come up with the best way to apologize to sir a final time to gain the privilege of going straight to sleep tonight when they step through the bedroom door. Carter’s breath catches as his gaze falls on a new addition to the room.
There is a metal cage at the foot of sir’s bed.
The cage is all black, from the bars and lock to the leather padded bottom and restraints in the corners. It’s too small. He’ll have to curl up tight to fit in it.
Carter sways on his feet, feeling dizzy and untethered. He should have expected this.Sir had mentioned a cage, hadn’t he?He had mentioned giving Carter away to someone else at night too. At least he chose the cage instead of that. Carter’s not sure he would have survived that.
“Use the bathroom if you need to,” sir says with a flick of his wrist. He doesn’t bother looking at Carter, just dropping his leash and walking towards his closet. Uninterested. Uncaring. “Fucking shower, too. You reek.”
A painful lump forms at the base of Carter’s throat, but he doesn’t dare try to clear it away. He just pads softly to the bathroom, his chin tucked, his eyes on the floor, the end of his leash dragging on the ground between his feet.
Carter relieves himself, though barely any pee comes out. Then he slides into the shower to wash up. The water is cold at first, but he doesn’t wait to let it warm, already lathering his body with soap. He sobs when he scrubs his ass and the back of his thighs, but he forces himself to endure it. There are a few places on his skin that look like they may have bled a bit, and the last thing he needs is an infection.
